Caving In
by IWantYouInMyLife
Summary: War is a terrible thing. It doesn't begin with combat, and it doesn't end with it. Nobody talks about how difficult it is to be alive after it; the book always ends in the fight. The survivors paid the price of the war, as always. This is their story.
1. Getting Real

**Author's Note: This plot won't leave my head, no matter how hard I try to forget it. Is like a plague that's crawling within' me, each time deeper than the last. So I gave up trying to fight it. Pain demands to be felt. So be it.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the woman who killed Snape.**

* * *

War is a terrible thing. It doesn't begin with combat, and it doesn't end with it. War starts in the small talks, on pretty magical schools, on shady bars and street corners. War ends with phycological damage, overcrowded prisons, fugitives, politics, and lies.

Nobody remembers most of the people who fought in the war. The unknown people who made it all happen. The ones who created the potions, the spells, the strategies, the ambushes...

Nobody talks about the dark part of the war. It's all about heroes and heroic deaths. The wind carries away the dark spells, the rapes, the unjustified murders, the blackmails, the kidnappings...

Nobody talks about how difficult it is to be alive after it. The book always ends in the fight. No author is interested in writing the crappy life that awaits the survivors.

What about the nightmares, the stress, the paranoia, the scars, the depression, the curses, the isolation, the ruins of the world alongside the debris of their lives? Is that suppose to be hidden forever?

Life after Voldemort wasn't flowers and sunshine. There were misery and pain, but there was also love and light. One only had to look hard enough to see it.

The survivors paid the price of the war, as always. This is their story.


	2. Midnight Snacks

**Author's Note: Get ready, 'cause this journey is about to begin.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter. I only own this story, so please be kind with it.**

* * *

 _Five years after the war_

Screams.

Horrible screams. A desperate sound coming from the room on the right.

Hermione.

The now Lord Potter-Black got up and out the door at a speed that would put any competitive runner to shame. Not a second could be wasted, after all, he was all too aware of how gruesome nightmares could be.

Nightmares.

In that cursed house having a good, uninterrupted night of sleep was unheard of. There was always someone crying, screaming, having panic attacks or rage fits. In fact, in the five years since they had moved in, things seemed not to be getting better. It wasn't surprising, honestly. People who lived the things they did had no shot of having a normal life, and after a long time, they had accepted it.

He threw the door open and rushed to her side.

"Hermione, wake up. It's not real, wake up." He was shaking her almost too hard. But he knew that gentle wouldn't wake her up.

Ron was seconds behind him, a desperate look on his face. It was evident that he hadn't processed that Hermione was indeed having a nightmare and not actually being tortured. He was holding his wand and looked ready to attack the first person he saw.

"Code yellow, Ron!" He was screaming at Ron and shaking Hermione all at the same time.

Thankfully the code was enough to snap Ron out of it. He shook his head and sat on the other side of Hermione's bed, at the same time as she finally woke with a final scream. Her right hand grasping her left forearm where the Mudblood scar was as visible as it had been on the day it was carved.

"It's fine, baby," Ron soothed, running his hand through her hair.

 _Fuck Bellatrix for everything she had done in her miserable life_ , Harry cursed in his head, not for the first time.

Hermione climbed into his lap and started to cry violently. Harry response was to simply shuffle back so he could rest against the headboard of the bed and hold her comfortably.

Ron quietly left the room. He didn't need to say where he was going; it was kind of a routine they had by now, the one who could move would always grab something to drink. In the best nights, it was tea; in the worst nights, they would grab whichever bottle of alcohol was near and get shitfaced with it. By no means was it a health habit, but sadly their good habits were very few.

Harry looked at the clock on the bedside table; it read 3:28 AM. Well, considering they had gone to sleep close to midnight he would consider that to be a good night. Getting any amount of sleep that wasn't potion induced was hard for him, getting more than three hours was a real victory. No matter how sad that perspective was.

Hermione's cries were slowly becoming less loud and more like chocked up hiccups. Harry grabbed the bottle of pills that rested on top of the clock, opened it and snatched two of them. Putting the bottle aside he calmly held the tablets for the other three minutes it took Ron to return, bringing three cups of the newest tea they were taking. Another one that promised it would make 'em sleep like the dead, but so far, like all the others, it wasn't making any difference at all. Still, they always tried the teas. It made Hermione happy, and they had learned to seize any happiness they could.

"Here buttercup, take these," He offered the pills at the same time as Ron pushed the tea into her hand.

She smiled softly at the both of them before quickly taking the pills.

Pain meds, that's what they were. Muggle pain meds. Vicodin.

The only thing that worked those days.

She didn't get up, didn't even move from his lap. She just sipped her tea and looked at him with sad eyes.

"The Meeting is today; I really wish we could have gotten a few more hours of sleep, at least." She didn't apologize for waking them up, none of them ever did anymore.

"I...Actually, I was already awake." Seeing Ron embarrassed was something very rare before the war. Crazy how life could be.

"What was it this time?" It could be so many things, honestly. But, still... He had a hunch, and most times — almost every time really — he was right.

"George firecalled," He said, in a tone that made it clear how much he worried about his only remaining brother. Not counting Charlie — he was never around anyway.

Harry signed. He worried about George too, to be quite honest. Ever since the horrible death of Fred, he seemed hollowed. Like there was a vital part of him that was missing, and only a tremendous effort on his part kept his body moving. It was heartbreaking to watch. His very essence was wasting away as time went by and nothing or nobody was enough to help him. Harry knew that he was only waiting for death now. After years of trying to live without his twin, he seemed to have given up.

"Will he come today?" Hermione asked, even though she knew he would. Nobody missed The Meetings. It was the only comfort they all had in the mess their lives had become. Even if they screamed and shouted and promised never to come back, they all did. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but they always came back the next month. Nobody said anything, knowing that it could be them next, not bearing to be away.

So instead of answering Ron only looked at her with an eyebrow lifted.

"No need to look at me like that, I know he will. I just, I don't know... I still wait for the day when nobody will show up." She looked down, embarrassed. "Every month I still wait for The Room to be empty, with only us left. The only ones broke enough to need it still."

Harry knew for a fact that that was a recurring thought of hers, and yet that was only the second time she actually said it out loud.

"Hermione..." He also knew exactly how his voice sounded. Worried with a hint of warning. The fact that he was ridiculously protective of her wasn't a hidden one. Not at all.

"I'm fine," She said very forcefully, trying to convince him. "It's just a thought; I'm okay."

"But you'd tell us if you weren't?" Ron's tone was equally as forceful.

"I would." She was looking at them with those beautiful caramel eyes. Eyes that now looked haunted. "I learned from my mistakes; you have to trust me."

"We do, you know we do. But that doesn't mean we don't get worried." He rubbed her back soothingly. "It's not about trust."

She knew, and they were aware that she knew, so nobody said anything else.

The silence lasted for only a few minutes.

"Well, since we are awake maybe we could start preparing things for The Meeting." Not surprising it was Hermione who was worried about the preparations. As if they hadn't done this a million times by now.

"We could start making the food." It was always Ron to suggest something about food, and, after all those years, they were used to it. But still, it was unbelievable the amount of food the guy could eat and not get sick.

"Are you gonna help this time?" Seeing the bossy look Hermione had was a gift. That she still had that spark, that same spirit as before was something Harry never stopped being grateful for.

"Hey! I always help." The indignant look Ron had was comic.

"Right..." Do not laugh, do not laugh.

"Honestly Ronald, last month you ate the entire pudding before people even got here! The pudding I made, all by myself," She said, slapping his arm. "It's like you believe we have no memory whatsoever!"

"It's not my fault. You made it the day before, and I had a sleepless night. How would I know it was for The Meeting?"

The excuse was so weak he started to walk backward as he said it slowly. Trying to, discreetly, put as much distance between his body and Hermione's as possible.

"Defend me, Harry!"

"No, don't even think about it. I'm so not getting in the middle of this." He gestured to the space between Ron and the lovely girl on his lap.

"You suck," Ron said without preamble.

"Thanks, mate," He grinned cheekily, blowing a kiss in his direction.

"You're both insane. I don't know why I still put up with you," Hermione said it, lifting her chin.

"'Cause you love me and you can't live without Ron's massages," He answered right back.

"Maybe... The massages are very good." She was making a show of looking like she was considering it.

Ron threw a pillow right at them.

"I'm so charging for them from now on."

"I could think of ways to repay you," She said with a low, sensual voice.

"Yes, with money," Ron answered, not amused.

Harry laughed at that. God, he loved those two.

"You're no fun," She pouted. "I have no money."

They both looked at her with unimpressed stares at the blatant lie.

"Yes, I'm sure that being the advisor to the Minister is making you poor."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," She replied, angelically.

"No idea my ass." Ron laid on the bed and rested his head on Hermione's thigh. "Maybe I'll stop working and be the stay at home wife. Let you guys shower me with presents and everything."

"I think you'd make a terrible stay at home wife," Harry said, snorting.

"I believe you underestimate my capacities Mister Potter," Ron said in a solemn tone of voice.

With that, they all started laughing loudly and uncontrollably. Until Ron turned his face to them and said: "But seriously, though, can we eat? I'm super hungry."

With that, Harry and Hermione shared a knowing glance. They got up suddenly and ran out the door full speed, screaming:

"Last one in the kitchen will wash the dishes."

Only to hear Ron running after them screaming about the unfairness of life.

Yes, Grimmauld place was a crazy cursed place indeed. But there was life within it now.


	3. Opening Up

**Author's Note: This story is my baby; I write it for no one else but me. It doesn't mean it can't also be enjoyed by other people, though, and that's why I'm posting it here.**

 **The few people who read it before will notice I'm rewriting it. I just decided this characters needed to be somewhere else. Anyway, I hope it won't bother you all tremendously.**

 **Disclaimer: I'm not the owner of Harry Potter or anything related to it.**

* * *

 _Thirty years after the war_

They were all gathered in the kitchen, ready to ambush the boy entering their house. Not that he knew, of course. Travis Finch-Fletchley knew very little about the meeting about happen, even though he was the one who asked for it. But he was young... so very young and naive, eager to dive head first into the past, thinking he knew what that would entail. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that this was a mistake... But Luna was so sure, and she was never wrong.

Astoria walked into the room followed by him, not showing a single emotion on her lovely face. "This is Justin's youngest son, Travis," She introduced politely. "He says he wishes to speak to us."

He couldn't be older than twenty, almost a child, Harry thought; knowing that he was being slightly judgmental but not being able to help it. At twenty The Group had been leading a war, and it had shown on their faces.

"First of all, I would like to thank you all for your time; it really is an honor to be here," The boy said, trying not to look extremely star-struck. Which was honestly more than most people did.

"Yes, we're all great," Draco interrupted, not nearly as politely as he could've been. "Just spill, kid."

"Draco..." Luna reprimanded lightly, squeezing his arm.

Luna was the only one could get away with shit like that when it came to Draco. And sure enough, he just mumbled quietly about something and leaned on the wall again.

"Well," Travis said, looking a little paler than before. "The truth is, the history of the wizarding world is not as well documented as it should be — putting it simply. Many great feats and tragedies were lost because no one bothered to systematize them properly, and that's an absurd. What we have is sometimes poorly written or plainly manipulated to portray one particular side."

Harry could see Hermione frowning very lightly, and he could almost picture her interrupting and informing — in that know-it-all's voice they all knew and loved — that _'History was never impartially written, the winner's side being all we knew.'_

"The war was a huge event," He continued. "It was not represented only by Voldemort, but by a huge part of our society who believed Muggle-borns' had no place among us. That mindset wasn't abolished in a single day; the final confrontation was nothing more than a historic day for the ages. I want...no, I need to know the whole story, and that's where you come in," Travis said, looking at all of them. "I want the chance to write about all that happened behind the curtains so that the whole world may know as well. I believe that this is the key to preventing history from repeating itself."

Silence followed his enthusiastic speech, all of them lost in the memories of said past.

"Our story isn't a pretty one, kid," Marcus informed, crossing his arms over his torso.

"I don't expect it to be pretty, Sir. I only want the truth," Justin's kid assured Marcus as if he wasn't asking for them to bear their souls. As though he wasn't digging for the darkest secrets. "I will do whatever it takes for it."

"Really?" Pansy moved for the kill, not caring how cutting her voice was. "Are you ready to write about deaths, murders, tortures, rapes?"

Travis became a little paler at every word she spat out, but he held his ground and answered almost firmly: "I am."

"Even if it involves people you know?" Harry finally interrupted, trying to make him understand. "Even if it will change your whole view of the world?"

"Look, I know I don't look like much, but I have given this a lot of thought. I don't expect it to be easy, but I imagine that if you all could live it, the least I can do is hear and write about it the best way I can."

Travis looked him right in the eyes, not hiding in the least. And that's what made Harry finally let the tension leave his body. Maybe this kid could really do it, maybe.

"I hope you understand how much you ask of us," Hermione pressed, looking resigned. "It's not easy to talk about it."

"I apologize Miss Granger, but I'm sure you can relate to my drive to write about it." He most certainly would've been a Gryffindor, no doubts about it. His emotions were passing through his face like a movie on a tv, ridiculously easy to see. "People have the right to know about all that's happened."

"And how do you plan to do this?" Selina asked, always the practical one. "One person at a time?"

"Yes and no." He clearly had it all figured out. "I want a background story from each of you. Otherwise, no one will be able to understand your motives. But the rest I expect to be told by all of you, as I know your tales are too intertwined to separate."

Selina just nodded, before looking at Harry and shrugging. Apparently, no more questions were needed.

"But wait, have you decided already?" Travis sounded terribly confused. "I must admit I expected more questions, maybe some screams. I don't know."

"Mister Fletchley, this is not a very well known fact, but since you'll know much more in the next weeks, I'll explain," Harry answered. "Luna has prophetic dreams. Sha can see glimpses of the future; sometimes more clearly than others. Two weeks ago she told us about your aspirations in this very kitchen. The questions and screamings did happen; you were just not here for them."

"We're doing this," Hannah stated, speaking as though she was commanding her will to be obeyed. "The war was too big, too harmful and sinister to be forgotten. We have to."

"No matter how much it hurt us, we have to do this," Padma completed. "I just hope you actually know what you're getting yourself into."

-x-

Three days.

Three days was all the time they gave the boy to prepare. When he returned they had a contract ready for him, he had only needed to sign it. And, to his credit, he went with it surprisingly easily. All the terms they demanded Travis agreed to. He only nodded and signed, thanking them for the opportunity to write.

Harry wished he could tell the kid to run, honestly. He pitted the innocence he was about to lose, without any chance of recovery. _'Why are you doing this to yourself?'_ He wanted to ask. But he never did. If there was one thing he learned from Dumbledore was that the truth was always better than the lie, even if it hurt more. The world had the lie, and they were about to give them the truth.

Somehow Harry doubted they would ever be thanked for that.

As it was, their story couldn't be told anywhere else — it wouldn't be right — so, three days later, they moved to The Room. It was the only reason Grimmauld place was still standing, to be honest. They were never there for anything other than the meetings.

They all sat in the living room. Some on the floor, some on the couch, and some standing against a wall. The silence was so thick it permeated the whole room. So complete and profound it allowed the faintest breeze to be heard as it passed by. The whole world seemed to stand still for a second in anticipation of the story to come. Harry knew that it was up to him to begin, after all, he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Twice.

"This isn't a beautiful story, nor does it have a happy ending. It's raw, and it's real; that's all I can guarantee. We weren't born at the beginning of it, but it was up to us to end it, regardless of what we wanted."

Travis wasn't unaffected by the atmosphere, not at all, but his excitement was visible if one looked close enough. And it was easy to know why. For years people tried to interview them, offering ridiculous amounts of money and favors. They all craved the secrets, the hidden parts of the war. Or at least they thought they did. But none of them succeeded, not until now.

The Group wrote history with their choices, and now they were about to share how they did it.

"We have decided to tell our lives before Hogwarts first," He continued, watching Travis quill fly across his paper. "We're all very different individuals, and that's partly, I believe, because of the distinct uprisings we had. Nothing would make sense if we didn't explain who we were."

"For the sake of the narrative, we'll do it in chronological order," George stated, grinning a little. "That means my lovely childhood is up first. Fear not, for it is a mostly happy one, something that's going to be relatively rare in this tale..."

* * *

 **AN2: Next chapter is George and Fred's childhood.**


	4. The Wonder Twins

**Author's Note: Here it is, the story of George and Fred Weasley.**

 **Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I'm only a player.**

* * *

"Forgive me if I can't quite muster a happy semblance to tell this story. Losing my twin — losing Fred... nothing could've prepared me for it. Half of the days I don't want to get out of bed, the other half I spend regretting doing so. The pain is not something you get used to and it never really goes away. I have bad days, and terrible days, that's all.

I've lost my ear, and with it, half of the sounds of the world. I've been crucio'ed. I've fought, and I've bled. Yet _nothing_ , not one single minute of pain, ever prepared me for the moment I saw Fred's body laying on the ground. It was torture and lightning; it was like losing my breath and drowning all at once. There's no true way of expressing it — nothing I could ever say will ever be enough.

So, know this:

This isn't the story of George Weasley. Absolutely not. This is the childhood of Fred and George. It wouldn't be right any other way, for I am nothing without my twin. Fred may no longer be physically present, but he's my other half. His absence is killing me — some days faster than others. Perhaps, the only reason I'm still here — in this dark world — is to be a part of this book... this tale. The world deserves to know Fred.

We were born on April first, 1978. A fitting date. And so, after a twenty-one-hour labor, Fred and George Weasley, came kicking into this world. The Wonder Twins. The horror of the teachers. The prankers. We were called many names in our life; most of them we deserved.

Our family, as is commonly known, was one of the poorest of the pureblood community in the Great Britain. We had little money, red hair, and disdain for anything the other pure-bloods preached. That's how people recognized us, and how we perceived ourselves, for a long time.

Fred and I didn't fit the mold very well, though. Since our toddler years, we already caused mayhem. We were curious children, always willing to go anywhere that seemed even remotely interesting even if it was dangerous or forbidden. If our parents told us not to do something, that was exactly what we wanted to do the most. That's not necessarily bad, I know. However, to understand us you have to know my whole family.

My mother, Molly Weasley née Prewett, married my father in a arranged marriage. Even though the Weasleys had no money to speak of, they still had some helpful connections. My father fancied Molly for several years before they got married, even though he never made any move. Arthur Weasley was a man of little initiative, and that would reflect their whole life together.

Mother wasn't a bad person in any conventional way; she truly wasn't. But that doesn't mean she was innocent of her fair share of mistakes, some of them bigger than others. She ruled her house; there's no other way to say it.

The truth was, she got married expecting a lot of things from the experience. She wanted love, kids, a comfortable life, and prosperity. The reality was significantly different. Arthur was a laid back man, who loved his job more than it was probably healthy and who had spent too many years cultivating an illusionary idea of Molly. The results could be seen by anyone who cared to look: They filled the Burrow with children to try to fill the void of their failure of a marriage.

The first child was Willian. He was everything a couple could want for a first kid. He was calm, intelligent, and strong. I could never shake the feeling that they resented it, though.

Bill was meant to be their heir; the one to carry the Weasley name forward. The Weasleys spent their lives going against the pureblood propaganda, with a fervor that rivaled that of the half-bloods or muggle-borns. To have a single, male heir was a crime against their ideals. And that's why Charlie was born soon after, not even two years after — or at least that's how Fred and I saw it.

Charlie, on the other hand, was nothing like a pureblood kid should be. He loved to get dirty and, most of all loved the magical animals and creatures. He spoke to house elves and defended werewolves. My parents soaked it all up. They practically basked in their pride, loving how he refused to conform to the norms. They encouraged it so much it was nearly unhealthy.

To say Percy was a disappointment would be the understatement of the century. He was far too bright and far too righteous to fit in the Weasley family. He wanted to study the magical world history and our traditions. My mother hated him. It's sad and pathetic, but I speak no lies.

Then there was me, Fred, and little Ickle Ronnie. You'll hear all about us in a minute.

From all of us, I believe Ginny was the one who felt the most unseen by our parents. She was the youngest and the only girl, which automatically meant she was always the last to ever get her hands on clothes or toys. Mother was firm in her belief that Ginny would follow her footsteps in becoming a mother of a large family — if that happened with our dear Harry here, well, that's all the better. She never hid her plans to marry them both, although she never bothered to ask whether they even liked each other.

That was our family. Separate individuals who didn't have much in common at all and would probably never even talk to one another if it wasn't for the blood they all shared. As I said, it was never terrible, but it wasn't great either. It felt bad enough that we wanted to create our own life, with our own rules. That's what matters.

Fred and I lived in a different world from the beginning. We were twins, and we shared a bond that very few understood — although many tried. One only needed to look to the other to know what he was thinking — Fred would begin a sentence, and I would end it flawlessly. There was no struggle, no difficulty. I never felt like we were two halves coming together, rather we always felt like we were a single unity working in two different bodies.

We soon realized that most people couldn't tell us apart, quite the opposite. I could count on one hand the number of people who managed to tell us apart. To us, that wasn't a problem; it only further allowed us to trick everyone around us —including our family members.

We had our own bedroom in the Burrow — not because we had the extra space, or even because there was two of us, but because no one else would agree to bunk with us, knowing what we got up to. Most of all, Fred and I were creators. Inventors of all sorts of tricks and jokes, true, but also of spells and potions, although not many ever knew of that side of our inventions. To the majority, we were pranksters. Boys who had way too much imagination and free time. It never bothered us. The reputation people created for us ended up being helpful in all sorts of ways in the end, for it was much easier to surprise when no one expected much from you than when you were always watched. We cultivated our distorted image, like most people in this room, because it served our purpose.

You look at the people in this room and what do you see? A group of damaged people, no doubts, but we were once so much more than that. Even though it wasn't easy, we came together because we had a purpose that united us all, something that moved us and that we believed strongly enough to risk our lives over and over again for many years. Everyone had a function within this group, mine and Fred's was to create elements which were needed, but also ones that could give us an edge.

The joke shop was a passion we had, more than anything we wished to create a space that brought happiness and joy to all who walked inside it. But it was never just that. Our shop was a necessary front to hide our laboratory, in which we created new spells and items to send to The Group, as well as whatever potions they might need. We would spend all of our days experimenting with new projects and keeping up with the production of old ones.

All in all, I would say Fred and I had it pretty easy, compared to some of the stories you'll hear from the others. No matter how cruel the situation became, it was a comfort to know that I wasn't by myself, that I wasn't alone."

George paused for a second, taking a deep breath, before continuing his tale.

"We started young. Although our appreciation for books only came after long years of trying and making mistakes other people had already made and wrote about it, we learned what science was pretty damn early. Not muggle science, per se, but the method of trial and error. Not having a whole lot of books filled with theories ended up being a good thing for us, because we never limited our ideas by others perception of what was or wasn't possible. In the end, we crossed many lines and broke dozens of rules. Were we in mortal danger for it? _Hell yes_ , but it allowed us to create spells and bombs, for example, that might have given us an edge against the death eaters, and when it comes to war every little detail counts.

To be one hundred percent honest, most of it won't ever be made known to the public. Even later in this story, I won't tell the process we used to develop some of our inventions. It simply wouldn't do anyone any good to have this sort of knowledge. We did what we had to do to win a war, that's it, but we're not at all proud of all the things we had to do to actually win. So, to preserve our hard earned period of peace, I'll allow the formulas and spells to die with me."

George stopped there, looking unsure as to how to proceed. The room was silent, only the noise of Travis's quill running through the paper at a fast pace to be heard. However, when the boy realized George wasn't making any move to continue his tale, he looked up and asked — probably seeing he could use the push.

"How did it feel to be sorted into Gryffindor?"

It was an odd question to make, Harry thought, not understanding the sudden change of direction the boy was forcing George's story to take. How could the boy not be interested in any of the twins creations?

"How do you think? Fucking great. Gryffindor is — was — the best damn house of Hogwarts," Neville said, a smile etched on his face. "Everybody knows that."

"Well, fuck you, Neville," Astoria cursed, "Slytherin was much classier than your house of lazy animals."

"Now, that's just a ridiculous lie," Hannah complained, lifting her head from Neville's lap, and trying to stifle a laugh from erupting. "Hufflepuff ruled Hogwarts in the shadows."

"Oh, please, Abbott, spare yourself from the embarrassment and desist of that absurd notion right now," Draco chimed in on the petty argument they still had from time to time even after all those years.

"Common, guys, will you all let this go?" Padma said, rolling her eyes, "This is stupid."

"Are you mad 'cause you know your house suck?" George joked, in a rare moment of carefree joy where one could almost see the happy teen he had once been. "After all, quidditch results speak for themselves."

As the discussion progressed, Harry noticed that Travis looked half amazed at their bicker and half frustrated. Probably because not only had it nothing to do with the story but because he never knew a Hogwarts divided by houses. It was one of the first things to end after the council was created right after the Ministry was retaken by the order in the following of Voldemort's death.

"Enough," Harry decided to intervene before it became a full on discussion. He knew all too well how quickly things turned from friendly fun to angry argument with them.

Even though his voice was no louder than the others, everybody immediately fell silent and turned to face him. Some habits they never lost, despite the end of the war, and his leadership was one of those things. He talked, and they listened; that's how it was.

"You're getting off track," He gently pointed out, "Let's get back to the story, alright?"

"You're such a killjoy, Harry," George faux-complained, making faces at him. "But, whatever, let's get back to my glorious life story. What are you thinking about it so far, newbie?"

Travis looked like a deer caught in headlights, not knowing how to respond without incriminating himself. Honestly, the boy was just too easy to tease. Ron, however, took pity on him, probably because he had suffered his own share of embarrassment in the hands of the twins.

"He's fucking with you, just ignore it," He said, not managing to hide his smile.

The boy breathed easily again, happy to be off the hook.

"Is there a reason why everybody is deciding to shut down my happiness today?" George complained. "I think we missed a vital part of this. Fred and I always had a reputation which preceded us everywhere we went. So, what have you heard of us, newbie?"

This time Justin's kid looked ready for the spotlight. He clearly had researched their lives before coming to their house, and Harry looked forward to hearing what he had to say.

"To be fair, it is quite difficult to find good information on any of you. A lot of what's out there is only either bullshit people made to earn money using your image, fangirls stroking your egos or haters. So, after excluding all that we're left with very little to work with. It's known that you were troublemakers since day one at school, frequently earning detentions but never seeming to mind them. You used your fellow students as guinea-pigs for your experiments, and more than once a teacher caught you and your brother leaning over a cauldron brewing a potion that was not for school. Both were known beaters for Gryffindor's quidditch team, always playing in perfect sync. However, what most don't know is that your grades were also brilliant, and, although you never bothered to return for your N.E.W.T.s, your O.W.L.s were pretty great, and your work in Transfiguration was legendary. Manwhores, you liked to fuck around with girls — and never bothered to restrict yourselves to Gryffindor either." He said all that in a single breath, rushing to put it all out there.

After a pause, he added. "You and your brother left Hogwarts with a bang, and never bothered to come back. You were seen at several raids made by the Order but then disappeared into your joke shop. You're both suspected of having killed several individuals, but were only known for having murdered the Carrow twins."

"Someone is well informed," Blaise said, and Harry could tell he was impressed.

The boy was quick in his response. "I did some research before coming here, of course, and I have to say, the amount of information on you guys is simply overwhelming. Trying to distinguish what had any realness to it took me quite some time. Did you know that the name Harry Potter is used in more books than Merlin's?"

Selina rolled her eyes. "After the trials began we had to announce The Group for what it was, to protect members and to use their testimonies. The press went nuts for that. The savior having an underground group, filled with Slytherins and death eaters? Who wouldn't want to cover that? But, unfortunately for them, there was not much to say about us apart from what we said publicly. We were all living reserved lives, trying to cope with all we had seen and done, which meant journalists had to come up with their stories to entertain the hungry audience. They all had a theory... it was mostly just rubbish."

"These testimonies," Travis began, "They weren't public. We never knew what happened behind those closed doors, only the official version the Ministry released after a few days. What happened there?"

"In a rush for the good part?" Draco sneered, crossing his arms in front of his body.

Harry knew Draco wasn't looking forward to his part of the story. Unlike George, who had nothing awful to say about his childhood, Draco's life had always been hell since the start — as had Blaise's and Marcus's and Pansy's... His own early years were not stellar by any means. It would only get worse from there. Telling that tale was not going to be an easy journey, and Harry was not looking forward to any of it.

Before the kid could try to defend himself, Harry decided to intervene again, not before sending Draco a warning look.

"Don't worry. By the time we finish this, you'll know what happened," He said. "However, it would make no sense to explain it now. You need information we have yet to give you."

"Besides, it's not all that interesting anyway," Ron said, in a bitter tone, his face distorted in a disgusted frown.

"You know what was interesting, though?" His brother asked, bringing the attention back to him. "My lovely life. As I was saying, nobody had high expectations of my brother and I. They saw us as energetic kids who spent all their time exploding things and causing trouble. We couldn't argue with that, as I said, in our life, we were called many things, and almost all of them we deserved. My mom quickly learned not to enter into our room, and our brothers not to try to mess with our stuff. We, in return, found out that people thought we were funny and charismatic, which meant getting away with things that would never have been possible if we were sulky like Percy. Wherever we went, the focus was on us, and that's just how we liked it. It was much easier to trick and prank if people liked us and volunteered for the job. That's not to say we were taking advantage of everybody we met, Fred and I were friendly people by heart, and we enjoyed to make others laugh. Our goal was to bring joy wherever we went, no matter how dark the situation was. At the time, we had no idea what a dark situation truly meant, but we learned in our time that not all could be cured with a well-placed joke or a funny performance.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves, as I said, people had low expectations of us — no one was more surprised than our parents when our results from our first year arrived. Excluding divination — which we flunked for fun — we never had a grade below E, although Fred always got better grades than me at Potions, I must say."

"Hogwarts felt much like we imagined paradise would look like," George continued. "We were used to the everyday magic around the house, used for cooking or cleaning. However, the magic we learned at school was so different it almost seemed like it was just as new for us as it was for the muggle-borns. We finally had our wands and all the space we could ever need to create whatever our hearts desired. Although I must admit we didn't adapt quickly to the rules and schedules and so our first few months were spent basically serving detentions with every single one of the professors, learning how far we could push before they were forced to do something about it. It helped that McGonagall had a soft spot for us — despite the fact that she believed herself to be a completely neutral and unbiased individual, she always cut us some slack. Fred always thought she appreciated our talent for Transfiguration, I, on the other hand, knew she had the hots for our sexy bodies."

Ron made a gagging sound at that, while Neville and Susan burst into laughter. Harry felt a snort coming from his body as he watched George smug face and Travis' disgusted expression. Minerva was dead — had been dead for quite some time — and perhaps the thought of an old corpse partaking in sexual intercourse was not something he found pleasure.

"If that old hag ever shagged at all in her life I'd be surprised," Draco said, curtly as ever. "She was probably the most unsexual being at that fricking castle."

"No way," Dean shook his head. "That spot belonged to Pomona, hands down."

"What? You can't be serious," Neville protested from his spot on the floor.

"Of course you'd defend her, you weird plant-whisperer," Dean mocked. "I bet you had all sorts of nasty dreams about her at school."

"You are disgusting," Hermione said, cutting off whatever Neville had been about to say. "She was our teacher, how disgusting would that be?"

"Actually, I did dream about her," Neville admitted, quite shamelessly. "Once."

To say Hermione looked shocked would've been an understatement. She just gaped at him, not able to formulate an appropriate answer.

"I knew it." Draco managed to look smug and disgusted at the same time.

"You are a shame to the memory of Hogwarts as we knew it," Padma proclaimed, joining Hermione in her protest.

"As if none of you girls ever dreamed about a teacher before," Harry pointed out, deciding to help the boys out. Just a little. "I know for a fact that Hermione fancied our lovely Gilderoy."

"I was thirteen!" She defended herself, trying to leave from Blaise' arms but the boy only tightened his grip, not allowing her to move from her place in front of him. "And he was pretty, at least."

"Not only did I feel a brain cell die everytime he opened his mouth during class but he also almost managed to invoke the murder I hadn't known lived inside of me," Blaise corrected, loosening his grip when Hermione settled in his arms again.

"I thought Snape was a real hotty," George admitted, making his best interpretation of a female voice.

Travis laughed, before redirecting them back to the story: "And you were both happy to be sorted into Gryffindor, right?"

"Yes, of course. Our whole family had been nothing but Gryffindors, and despite the fact that we couldn't care less about tradition, Fred and I wanted to be near our brothers." George smiles, ruffling Ron's head fondly even as the red-headed tried to escape his grasp. "At that point, we were brave and naive eleven-year-olds, we belonged there. Not only that, but we Weasleys stick together, no matter what. Or at least we did, before the war."

He withdrew his hand, his smile fading as a dark look of pain took its place. "There's no reason for that now. Percy is dead; Bill is dead; mother is dead... even Ginny didn't make it. The Weasleys were in the second war what the Blacks were in the first, a once prosperous family who fell fighting for their beliefs. Charles lives wandering around the world, getting drunk and high. Dad functions poorly, still blaming himself for the death of our siblings. If it weren't for Ickle Ronnie here, the Weasley name would've died with our generation."

"I'm terribly sorry for the loss of your loved ones," The kid said, looking quite sad for George. He fell silent for a minute before asking. "Wait, speaking of them, where are you famous offspring?" Justin asked, looking around. "Are they all at Hogwarts?"

"No, we left them with the elves," Hermione said, rather sadly. "Although none of them are so little anymore, we felt like this shouldn't be something our children should watch."

"While this may seem rather light," Blaise added. "It won't stay like this for long."

No, it wouldn't, because Seline was up next, and her life hadn't exactly been a walk in the park.


End file.
